


The Before's

by MellytheHun



Series: Tumblr Sterek Prompts [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Capture, Mentions of Murder, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, dark themes, mentions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Prompt: Ask: ...for the prompts, I was wondering if you can do a "tell me" for sterek? like, maybe one day they're just hanging out and like Derek confesses about an event from his childhood or something like that, and bonus points if you're able to incorporate a smidgen of "quiet me" in there (because Derek has had such a crappy life and I think he just needs to cry). thanks for your time!Leave a “Tell Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]&Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]





	The Before's

“Hey, Big Guy,” Stiles greets, tentatively entering Deaton’s back room.

Derek is sitting grimly in a rolling stool, dried blood still on his face, hair dry and mussed. His eyes are unfocused, his skin is pallid and the slope of his shoulders speaks to a different kind of pain.

“So,” Stiles goes on, moving to sit informally on the exam table, “Scott and the gang are going to clean up the crime scene and I’ve been assigned Suicide Watch.”

Derek gives him a dangerous look and Stiles sighs out, “yeah, sorry, that was in bad taste.”

“I don’t need you to look after me,” Derek assures.

“Not that I don’t believe that,” Stiles starts, “But I don’t believe that.”

Derek rolls his eyes and runs his hands through his hair, hanging his head exhaustedly. He rubs at the back of his neck and Stiles gets distracted by the bunching and stretching of Derek’s back muscles. Stiles never considered Deaton’s lighting to be any good, but it casts hypnotic shadows over Derek’s bare torso. He clears his throat nervously and asks, “so, uh, you doing alright?”

“I just had to kill a walking and talking replica of my sister, which took me so long to actually just _do_ that you and Lydia were almost ritually sacrificed to make _more_ clay zombies by a witch who had a personal vendetta against me for something I don't even remember doing. ‘Alright,’ isn’t what I’d call it.”

Stiles looks down at his swinging feet, the dirt stuck on his red converse. He speaks without thinking about it, "I never felt like I was in danger, honestly.”

Derek lifts his head to cock a disbelieving brow at Stiles.

“Well, I knew there was _danger_ , obviously,” Stiles explains, gesticulating vaguely, “but I knew _you_ were on your way. I just… maybe this is weird or misplaced or something, but I don’t really feel in danger when I know you’re coming for me.”

Derek’s eyes start to glisten with a tenderness Stiles has never seen before. It makes his heart bump and twist in a way that used to be reserved only for Lydia Martin. His throat clicks on a swallow and he adds, “I mean, you’d never… I just know that you’d never let anything happen to me. So…”

Derek is six feet and two inches of lean, dark apex predator material and even though Stiles is about Derek’s height and sitting on something elevated enough that he’s at eye-level with Derek, he’s intimidated. Stiles isn’t intimidated in the way he used to be, when he was more naive and unsure. Just as he was positive a few hours ago that Derek would rescue him, he is as positive now that Derek would never hurt him.

There’s still a low grade fear simmering in Stiles.

It’s a fear about what looking too deeply into Derek’s eyes might do to him, what hearing Derek’s deepest desires could teach him about himself. It’s a fear about what feeling Derek’s skin under his fingers might burn into him, what tasting Derek’s lips might force him to reconcile.

There’s mystery about Derek, there’s masculinity and intrigue that Stiles has always simultaneously envied and admired. The way Derek’s eyelashes rest on his cheeks, the way the veins on the underside of his arms turn dark, the way he stands so tall and powerful, but still stealthy and feathery light on his feet — it scares Stiles. It scares him and he likes that.

Derek steps in front of him, splays his hands on Stiles’ knees. He keeps his head bent a bit down and to the side; Stiles thinks that maybe Derek is looking at where he can hear Stiles’ heart beating.

“We used to play Were’s and Hunters when we were little. A lot like Cowboys and Indians. The same principle too — running around the front and backyard, pretending to shoot arrows into each other.”

Stiles’ eyes flicker back and forth between Derek’s face and the way Derek’s thumbs rub against the denim seam by his knees.

“Whenever I was the Hunter, I couldn’t shoot her down.”

Derek shakes his head, like the words aren’t right.

Stiles waits patiently.

“It’d just be the two of us left. Our cousins playing dead by our mother’s vegetable garden, her staring at me and waiting. And when I didn’t pretend to fire my invisible arrows, she’d tackle me to the ground and bite into my shoulder to win. Every time.”

Stiles swears he sees tears twinkling at the corner of Derek’s eyes, but he doesn’t breathe a word about it.

“That puppet wasn’t Laura,” Stiles reasons, “It was clay and mud mixed with some magic to look and sound like her. But it wasn’t her.”

When silence fills the space between them, Stiles suddenly begins to understand what Derek isn’t saying.

He was never able to kill Laura _before_ , even pretend to. But when Stiles’ life was on the line, Derek looked his sister (or a very good imitation of his sister) in the eye and _eliminated_ her. He ended Laura so that Stiles could continue. Even if it wasn’t really her, even if it was just a cruel mirage, it was Laura’s hair and Laura’s face and Laura’s voice and eyes.

And Derek destroyed every one of his innermost instincts for Stiles’ sake.

Stiles reaches his arms out and tugs Derek into the space between his legs. He rests his cheek against Derek’s collarbone and hopes that the grip and sweep of his fingers don’t spell out his feelings too loudly; Derek can probably smell them on him anyway, but he likes to keep a delusion that he maintains some form of privacy still. Derek’s arms come around him and he breathes deeply behind Stiles’ ear. It gives Stiles chills.

“Is this what Packmates do after a near-death experience?”

Derek hesitates before answering, “no.”

Stiles’ heart thuds and his hands and feet start to tingle with lack of blood flow. He leans backward, thinking he’ll look Derek in the eye, but Derek doesn’t back up enough for that. Stiles’ eyes stay half-lidded and a bit crossed, watching Derek hover in the Right Before of a kiss.

Derek’s eyes so close up melt something deep in Stiles’ chest. His gaze is clearer now, focused and Stiles feels a heady and strange superiority in being the focus of all that attention. It gives him a thrill he’s never felt before, having all that undivided attention.

And then Derek is kissing him and it’s tame, it’s gentle and affectionate. Derek’s hands come to cup his face and tilt his head; giving Derek control forces a quiet and pleased noise from Stiles’ throat. Stiles’ hands come to hold Derek’s forearms, then they slide up until Stiles can slot his fingers in between Derek’s.

When Derek’s tongue runs across Stiles’ bottom lip, Stiles opens his mouth on a moan and the entire tone changes. Derek’s kisses are suddenly sweeping and hungry, he curves his body in towards Stiles’ and Stiles welcomes him. He keeps up with Derek, gets hard over the feel of Derek’s scruff on his own mouth and he thinks he’s already in too deep. He's in too deep and he'd like to go deeper.

He’s scared of that, and he likes it.


End file.
